


Gnomes and Other Minor Disasters (Or Reasons Why Tony Can't Work When He's Sick)

by Ocean_Born_Mary



Series: Minor Disasters (Or Reasons Why Tony Can't Work When He's Sick) [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Coulson isn't dead, Gen, Gnomes, Keurigs, M/M, Sickfic, Tony Has Issues, pre-slash Tony/Steve (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocean_Born_Mary/pseuds/Ocean_Born_Mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Keurig, there were...gnomes.  And just so we're clear, Tony's pretty sure that it is somehow all Clint's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gnomes and Other Minor Disasters (Or Reasons Why Tony Can't Work When He's Sick)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of the new Minor Disasters 'verse. (You don't need to read about the Keurig, but it would probably make more sense if you did).
> 
> This is for all those who left wonderful kudos and lovely comments! I wouldn't have been able to do this without you. :)
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Briefings sucked. De-briefings sucked.  
  
Anything involving Fury and Coulson and Eyebrows-of-Doom and flying, pants-eating coffee makers sucked.

Tony could say, definitively, without any room for argument, that this sucked. This was sucktastic.

Barton snorted next to him, and there was the Sigh. “Did I say that out loud?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Tony glanced up at the blue tinged video feed. “You said that out loud.” Was it hard to glare with only one eye?

“My bad.”

“You must not blame my friend,” Thor boomed from his seat, shifting Mjölnir back and forth. “He was only trying to save our dear Keurig.” He stood, waving the hammer. “How was he to know that the soul he pulled from the afterlife was not that of Keurig, but of an evil foe? Surely he cannot be blamed for the mechanical trickery!” Natasha ducked as Thor gestured widely, hammer flinging willy-nilly everywhere.

Tony was pretty sure Coulson’s eye was twitching as his hand hovered over the stack of forms on the kitchen table. And he thought his head hurt.

Granted, it wasn’t nearly as bad now that Steve had force-fed him an entire medicine cabinet. Course, everything was a little foggy too. Maybe he should let Bruce handle the meds from now on. Speaking of which…

Why was Bruce pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t the one with the fever here.

“I think,” Bruce said gently, “that next time something breaks, we should just buy a replacement.”

“Are you saying I can’t fix stuff?” Tony asked, mildly offended.

“Tony, fixing it would have made it brew coffee again,” Steve explained. Why was he talking like Tony was two? Tony was not two.

“It brewed coffee.”  
  
“Right on that man’s head on 42nd street,” Fury snapped.

“Yes, well, ahh…”

“We are currently paying for psychiatric therapy for 20 citizens who literally had their pants scared off of them by a coffee maker. Three with second degree burns, and 10 with bite wounds.”  
  
Speaking of which, his leg kinda hurt.

“I think the problem is, Mr. Stark needs to report to sickbay when he isn’t feeling well,” Coulson was rubbing his temples now. Served him right.

“Uh, excuse me, I’m not sick.” His sneeze was rapidly followed by several raised eyebrows and one great big Sigh. “Correction. I’m not very sick. It’s just a little Not-Cold.”

“Little Not-Colds do not usually involve fevers, Stark. Or PANTS-EATING-COFFEE-MACHINES!” Good thing Fury wasn’t here. He looked like he wanted to take his twitching fingers and wrap them around something…probably Tony’s neck.

“Or gnomes.” Clint. Ever so helpful.

“Director,” Steve attempted to placate. And since when did he take Tony’s side?  “This is just as much my fault as Tony’s. Now, if we institute a check on Tony schedule…”

“What? Oh, hell no.” Tony shook his head and sniffed, sucking those stupid germs back up his nose. “There will be no checking on Tony schedule. Tony has done quite fine on his own, thank you. Tony does not need babysitters.”

“Here,” Natasha passed him the Kleenex box.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Isn’t that what you hired Pepper for?” Clint really should stop talking. “And isn’t Jarvis just a big babysitter?”

“Only on days that end in ‘Y’, Mr. Barton.”

“Not helpful, J.”

“Sorry, Sir. Captain Rogers, it is time for his next dose of Sudafed.”

Steve stood up to find the little red pills and Tony thunked his head heavily on the table, burying it in his arms. He wasn’t ever coming out.

“Be that as it may,” Fury continued, “this appears to be a reoccurring problem.”

“A reoccurring…” Tony’s head shot up, “I only ever made evil Keurigs once! Once!”

“Gnomes,” Clint whispered.

“Thor was in tears, in tears I tell you, what do you think an acceptable response would have been?” Two red pills appeared in front of him. “Thank you.” Steve just patted his head. What was he, a dog?

“Not a dog,” Bruce replied. Steve was blushing. “But an acceptable response would have been to pitch the old one and buy a replacement.”

Oh. That made sense.

That didn’t fix the gnome issue, though…

“Gnomes,” and dear heaven, Tony was going to sneeze all over Barton. See how he functioned with his head all stuffed up and his brain in little bitty floaty pieces.

“Those were your fault, not mine.” There. Try to argue with that one.

“How was it my fault?”  
  
“Boys,” Coulson attempted to interrupt.

“You bought, like, 500 garden gnomes and left them laying around.”

“Boys.”

“I bought them for target practice! And it was only 100!” Clint stood, leaning across the table. Thor laughed, apparently amused. Everyone else backed up.

“Boys.”

“Yes, but if you hadn’t bought them in the first place, than there would have never been a problem, would there? Your fault.”

Clint leaned closer, and Tony chose that exact moment to sneeze. Hah. Take that, Barton.

Coulson’s jaw snapped shut as Clint did some sort of Irish step dance around the table. “Ew, ew, ew, ew…”

“I thought it was traditional to say ‘bless you’ after such a sound. But if it is, in fact to dance…” Thor began to mimic Clint’s steps. “My friends, this is great fun, you must all join in the dance with me.”

“I’ll pass,” Bruce cleared his throat. “But, uh, thanks for the offer.”

“Coulson,” Fury growled. “I want the report on my desk by 1500 hours. In the meantime…tie Stark down.” With that, the transmission was cut.

“Bed time, Tony.”

“What, no, Cap, I just got up!” He was not being led down the hall by his hand.

Nor was he being tucked in by Captain America. This was a hallucination from his Not-Cold. He was certain of it.

“Get some rest, Tony.”

“Don’t wanna.” His eyes were not closing. Was that a hand on his forehead? It couldn’t have been, because the next time he opened his eyes, the Captain was gone. So, with nothing better to do (and a distant hope that all the sneezing-aching-swollen-everything would go away magically while he was unconscious--when did he become a Nyquil commercial?), Tony decided he might as well sleep. It had nothing to do with the clawing exhaustion. Nothing.

Though the exhaustion may very well have had to do with the dreams. It wasn’t like he felt guilty over the gnome incident....

Clint had bought an extraordinary amount of the small, lumpy creatures. They were hidden all over the tower in their little green suits, red pointy caps, and white beards. And squinty eyes. That followed you.

Some of them carried small fishing poles. Most of them just looked decidedly suspicious.

It didn’t help that they were hiding in strange places. Clint claimed it was for ‘target practice’.  
  
Natasha beheaded one that she had found when she opened the refrigerator. Clint said that just proved his point--they were great target practice. After Tony nearly slipped in the bathroom (what kind of person put a gnome in the toilet?) he went around gathering up as many as he could find and hiding them in his lab. Jarvis was under strict orders not to let Clint near them.

One attempted break-in and a thoroughly wet Phil Coulson later (who knew Barton would attempt to use Phil as a shield from Tony’s carefully designed squirt-gun booby trap? Well, maybe not so carefully designed, because just before Clint pushed Phil over the trip wire, Dummy had managed to ‘accidentally’ soak Tony--Jarvis totally had something to do with it) and Clint was banned from even stepping foot within three floors of the lab.

Any time he attempted to, Phil magically appeared with a stack of paperwork and a one of those clicky pens. Barton had a lot of backlogged paperwork. Not as much as Tony, but still…

The paperwork would appear and Barton would take to the vents. It was a rather common reaction among the team when faced with paperwork. Giant, evil, mankind destroying creatures? Oh, yeah.  Forms that could only be filled out in blue or black ink? Heck, no.  
  
Bruce and Steve were the only ones that regularly filled out the proper post-mission, requisition, and ‘do-I-have-permission-to-sneeze?’ forms. Phil knew better than to hand them to Natasha (one slender raised eyebrow told him exactly what she was going to do with them), Tony and Clint usually disappeared at the first sign of paperwork, and Thor…well, Thor had made paper snowflakes out of the last batch. Tony may have had something to do with it. Though it was definitely Barton who convinced the demi-god to hang them all over the command center of the Helicarrier.

Needless to say, the sight of Phil and paperwork was generally enough to send Clint running for the ventilation shafts.

The evil looking gnomes remained piled up in the corner of Tony’s lab for the better part of a week. He’d had Dummy cover them all with a tarp (so the eyes couldn’t follow him), and proceeded to continue on with daily life.

Which was all well and good until the itch at the back of his throat started.

Of course, it was just because he was thirsty. Very thirsty.

And the only reason his nose was running was because the lab was so cold.

And his back hurt because…well, he didn’t have a valid explanation for that one yet, but given half a chance, he was sure he could come up with one.

“Sir, your temperature appears to be rising.”

Stupid Not-Colds.

His traitorous body had taken to spiking fevers at the slightest hint of a sniffle. The doctor had thrown around words like ‘stress’ and ‘rest’ and ‘eat regularly’.  
  
“See, Pepper. The doctor said you should reduce stress, rest, and eat regularly so you can take care of me.” In retrospect, he probably deserved to get hit by the shoe she threw at him. There was a reason why their relationship hadn’t lasted very long. Tony was pretty sure he was the reason. That didn’t stop him from calling her to whine.

“Pepper, tell Jarvis I’m not sick.”

 _“Jarvis?”_  
  
“Mr. Stark currently has a temperature of 100.1.”

“See, just a little Not-Cold.”

 _“Tony, go take Dayquil an two ibuprofen. Climb into bed, and don’t call me again. I’m in the middle of a board meeting.”_  
  
“You know what the doctor said about stress…”

_“Tony.”_

“Yes, mom, right away, mom.” Yeah, so that didn’t work out.

And who the heck wanted to walk all the way upstairs? Okay, who wanted to ride the elevator all the way upstairs?

Couch it was. Besides, taking stuff was for wimps.

When Tony woke up, he’d reconsidered. His entire body felt like it had been run over by a semi-truck, backed over, and then parked on. And his left arm was asleep. Taking stuff was for champs. He’d take lots of stuff if this would all go away and…

“Uh…Jarvis? Why am I on the floor?”

“STARK!”

Hmm…Steve sounded mad. He’d just hide here under his workbench. Though, that was really unfair to be mad at him. He hadn’t been out of his lab all day. It wasn’t like he’d taught Thor how to make prank calls to Fury (though that had been highly amusing) or ordered 500 roses for Natasha (and labeled them all _from Clint_ ) or replaced Bruce’s zen soundtrack with Iron Maiden (he’d regretted that one afterwards--wouldn‘t be doing that again) or made Clint arrows that exploded confetti all over (they weren’t supposed to actually go out on a mission--good grief, couldn't the guy tell the difference between real arrows and the party kind?) or used Coulson’s tooth brush to clean Dummy (it did a really good job between joints) or put itching powder inside of Steve’s spandex. On second thought, he had just wanted to put itching powder inside of Steve’s spandex--Coulson had caught him before he got there. Never mind, he’d planted the idea in Clint’s head a couple of days ago, so that would surely be making an appearance sometime…oh, maybe that was why he was mad.

“STARK!”

He was just going to stay here. Under the work bench. Good thing all those creepy little buggers were covered by that tarp, because otherwise they’d surely give his position away with their roving eyes.

Except…

“Uh, Jarvis?”

“Sir, there is a problem upstairs. I am trying to contain it, but am having difficulty.”

Oh, dear Lord, no. He didn’t.

It had been a…problem…since he was younger. Kind of like sleepwalking. Just more…productive. It was the reason why he didn’t leave useless junk laying around the lab. Sometimes it turned out okay, like Dummy. That was a rare occurrence.  
  
This was all Clint’s fault.

“How did they get out?” he whispered, rubbing at his runny nose.

“Well, Sir, it appears that Mr. Barton and Mr. Odinson liberated them while you were sleeping.”

He should probably go up. See what he had done. “What was I thinking?”  
  
“Well, at the time, Sir, you appeared intent on giving Mr. Barton some decent target practice.”

“Really?” That sounded oddly generous of him. Not that he wouldn’t make Clint targets, but…

“That is what I assume you meant by, _‘see if he can find the little bastards now.’_ ”

Oh. Nothing as generous as target practice then.

“STARK!”

Time to go face the Eyebrow then.  
  
“Jarvis,” he hissed as he punched the buttons on the elevator (and why did he bother, Jarvis would just take him where he needed to go anyway). “New protocol: I’m not allowed to do things in my lab when I’m sick.”

“Sir, need I remind you that we have tried to institute that protocol on numerous occasions?”

“We need to try harder.”

“Agreed, Sir.” Was the AI being condescending? Did he really deserve that right now…oh, hell, he deserved it.

“Jarvis, close the elevator doors. Now!”

“Stark,” Steve hissed, hauling him out of the elevator by his collar.  
  
“Oomph, hey, easy with the hands there. I like it rough, but…”

“Look what you have done!” Steve jabbed his finger towards the large, open living room. Where Clint and Thor were currently crowd surfing on top of hundreds of garden gnomes.

“You have saved us!” They chanted as one, “We are eternally grateful!”

“Really, Stark?” Coulson asked from where he was standing on a table (and how could he still look bored standing on a table surrounded by living garden gnomes?). “Toy Story?”

Tony shrugged. He hadn’t picked Saturday’s movie. In fact, he was pretty sure it had been Bruce’s day.

“Can we keep them?” Thor boomed.  
  
The gnomes supporting the demi-god dropped him to the ground and attempted to clamber up his thighs. “Daddy!”

Tony took advantage of Steve’s open mouthed disbelievement to slide backwards towards the elevator. If he could just get to Malibu…

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Nat! Hey, uh…”  
  
“There are gnomes. In my bedroom. Signing Kumbaya.”

“Oh…well…”  
  
“Fix it,” she hissed.

“To fix it, I’d have to know what I did.”

Steve turned, glancing from the gnomes (who were now doing either the Electric Slide or having a massive group seizure--Tony wasn’t sure) to Tony. “What do you mean you’d have to know what you did? No one else here could have done it.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure that I’m somehow partially responsible for…that…I mean, who else is brilliant enough to give life?” He sneezed and sniffed. “Though this is mostly Clint’s fault. Usually I’m really good at keeping things that I don’t want tinkered with out of the lab, but those stupid gnomes were popping up everywhere, so I took them, and if he had just used them for target practice instead of hiding them all over the tower…”

“English,” Natasha supplied. “Steve speaks English.”

“I have this problem…”

“What does not liking to be handed things have to do with this?” Steve asked.

“Well, that’s a problem too, but…”

“What Mr. Stark is trying to say,” Jarvis interrupted, and no, that was definitely the Macarena, not the Electric Slide, “Is that he has a habit of creating things when he is sick that he has no recollection of afterwards.”

“Kinda like a hangover…except the headache is usually worse.” Tony grinned sheepishly. “Oh, is that…not the chandelier…Pepper is going to have a fit.”

“I should have moved out with her,” Natasha muttered.  
  
The elevator opened behind them, Bruce stumbling out. There were gnomes attached to both of his arms, and one on each ankle. Any attempts to dislodge them seemed to make them hang on tighter.  
  
“Whee!!!” the one on his left arm squealed as he swung it around.

“How on earth did you program a hundred garden gnomes in…” Steve glanced down at his watch, “three hours?”

Tony scratched his head. “See. Problem.”

“No, I have a problem,” clarified Bruce. “I turn into a giant green guy. You. You’re deranged.”

“Fair enough.” He cleared his throat, biting back a cough. “Though, in my defense, I was apparently just trying to make them more useful. Now Clint can have real target practice.”

Coulson opened his mouth, but was cut off by Thor. “NO! You cannot hurt my new friends!”

“Thor, you’re always making new friends. You _‘made friends’_ with Big Bird yesterday.”

“Yes, dear Anthony, but these ones have now taught me how to Rumba! And the yellow creature taught me the letter Q! Is it not important to have helpful friends?”

“I’ll pay for a dance instructor.”

“No, they are but small children! We should shower them with love and kindness.”

Bruce waved his right arm in the air. “Wheee!!!!”

“They need to go. Now.”

“Steve, I agree wholeheartedly,” Tony nodded. “I’m just not sure how to do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Natasha grinned, reaching for her knives.

“Wait,” Tony held up a hand. “Something’s missing.”

“Where’s Barton?!” Ah, good ol’ Phil.

“Our Hawk has taken his new friends down to the kitchen. He said he wished to see what happened if garden gnomes ingested Pixie Sticks.”

Oh, no. That was bad.  
  
And probably not nearly as amusing as watching Bruce stand on one foot and wave his other three limbs around wildly. “Whee!!!!”

“Kitchen, now.” And there was the Eyebrow-of-Doom. Wait for it…oh, yeah. Sigh-of-Great-Disappointment.

“This is on you,” muttered Natasha, pointing at Thor who was shaking his booty with at least twenty five small men in pointed hats. One was hanging from the chandelier by his fishing pole, swinging in large circles. She slipped into the elevator, followed closely by Coulson (how had he managed to get off the table?), and a flailing scientist.

“Really, I fail to see how this is entirely my fault when clearly Barton…okay, kitchen, got it.” Stupid Eyebrow. “Besides, this is hardly the worst thing I’ve ever…you know what, never mind, I’m not going to finish that sentence.”

There was no way he was incriminating himself for the way Fury’s toilet sang “You Spin Me Right Round,” for three weeks after the alien invasion. Apparently concussions had the same effect as Not-Colds.

“I’m not going to write that up,” Phil shook his head. “In fact, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that at all.”

“You did what?” Bruce stilled and stared.

The gnome on his arm was disappointed. “Wheeee…awww…”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Crap,” Steve mumbled, reaching for his wallet.

“Twenty bucks, Rogers,” Natasha smiled. “Told you it wasn’t Barton.”

Phil groaned. “That’s it, I’m going to make you all watch Super Nanny on my movie night.”

“Awww, Phillll,” Tony whined. The elevator dinged open before Steve could berate him. Good job, Jarvis.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Other side effect of being sick. His mouth ran away with his brain. He needed duck tape, and to be tied down.

“We might be able to arrange that.”

He was not going to deign Phil’s comment with a response. That would just be immature.

Though that title was currently being claimed by the man doing shots with mechanical garden gnomes.

“What happened to the Pixie Sticks?”

Clint glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, couldn’t find them. Found the tequila, though.”  
  
“Because I keep alcohol and candy in the same cabinet.”

“Barton does,” Natasha whispered. “Likes to mix his Fun Dip with the Captain Jack.”  
  
Well…that certainly explained a few things. Like where all the Fun Dip had gone.

Tony sneezed, snot plastering all over the back of Steve’s shirt. “Whoops, let me just,” he rubbed his sleeve over it. “Smear it in apparently…”

“Bless you.” For some reason that sounded more like a curse than a blessing. Who knew that you could get Captain America’s panties in a knot? Did he even wear panties? That suit was awfully tight, and (luckily for Tony) didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Cough it up Coulson,” Natasha held out her hand. “You owe me fifty.”

Steve was blushing. Why was he…oh.

That’s it. He was building himself a remote that rewound time. That way he could take back everything that he never meant to say. Or build.

There was a brief moment where Tony thought he was going to quite possibly freeze on the spot forever, but at the sight of a very tipsy garden gnome stumbling across the kitchen counter, only to face plant in his sink, he decided that this was all okay, because it was just one massive fever-induced hallucination.

Another gnome stumbled by and fell against the switch to the garbage disposal. Little gnome parts flew everywhere.

Silence reigned as everyone waited for the reaction. Clint stood peering at the little ceramic pieces that had flown across the table. “Uh…why are they vibrating?”

“Because you had too much to drink.”

Clint glared half-heartedly at Natasha. Until a little gnome hand flew by his head and towards the sink. The other pieces swiftly followed, and a second later, the drunken gnome was pulling itself from the basin.

Coulson stomped down the hallway, mumbling something about paperwork and ‘push off a roof’.

“Huh…wonder how I did that…next time you guys want to break something, little gnome minions, please break that Keurig and not each other. Stupid thing can’t even make a decent cup of coffee.”

“You…” Steve shook his head. “Just…go fix this.”

“Okie dokie, Cap.” Tony slipped past Bruce (who had given up on trying to shake the gnomes, realizing that they were only getting pleasure out of it) and back onto the elevator.

Tony translated ‘go fix this’ as ‘take a nap’, because there was no way that he had created 100 little live garden gnomes that were currently throwing a drunken dance party in the upper levels of the tower. Which was why he was very displeased to be shaken away forty minutes later.

“Go away,” Tony grumbled.

“Tony.” Bruce. “Tony, you’ve got to get up.”

No, he most certainly did not.

“Tony, they got drunk and took the Quinjet.”

“Steve can’t get drunk,” Tony mumbled, pushing his throbbing head deeper into the leather couch.

“Not Steve! The gnomes!”

“The…the what? They did what?” Tony sat up so fast his head spun. “Jarvis!”

“You told me not to wake you, Sir.”

“Where are they headed?”

“The Helicarrier, Sir.” Eyepatch wasn’t going to like this one.

“Can we just shoot it down?” Tony looked to Bruce for support.

Bruce shook his head. “Damn.  Jarvis, patch me into the jet’s communication system.”

“Hello!” A hundred tiny voices sang.

“Uh, hi. You guys need to turn around.”

“No. We must find the one called Fury. Our liberator said that we must turn his frown upside down by performing traditional Russian dances on the communications deck.”

He was going to kill Barton.

“Jarvis, hack the controls…”

“Sir, they’ve locked me out.”

“I really need to make things that aren’t this smart…”

“Without the jet, we can’t stop them.”

“Where’s the Cap?”

“He went to the grocery store with Coulson. Natasha and Clint are trying to figure out how to hide the evidence before they get back.”

“Okay…okay. Jarvis, get my suit ready. Tell Thor I’ll meet him on the landing pad.”

“What do you want me to do?”  
  
“Find a brown paper bag. Coulson’s going to need it to breathe into.”

He and Thor made good time. It just wasn’t good enough.

By the time they got there, the slight tipsy gnomes had made it to the bridge, and were performing some sort of strip tease. “So this is the traditional Russian dance that Clint spoke of.”

“Uh, not quite…no.”

Fury turned, pinning him with a one-eyed glare. “You.”

“Me?”

“You had something to do with this.”

“You have met our new friends! They have taught me to Rumba! Would you like to see?”

Maria Hill had her gun drawn and pointed at the nearest gnome.

“NO! You must not hurt our dancing friends!”

She didn’t have to. Fury had already taken out his side arm and blown the nearest one to bits.

The dancing froze.

“Oh, dear.”

They watched as the pieces vibrated and began to knit back together.

“Anthony! You did not tell me that you made the little men heal!”

“Stark…”

“Yeah, about that, Director…”

“That was not nice,” the gnomes intoned as one, turning on Fury. “You have been unkind. Now you must suffer our wrath!”

Little shifty eyes turned red and gnome hands disappeared to be replaced by small circular…  
  
“Laser guns! You gave them laser guns?!”

Tony snapped his visor in place. “Jarvis, I need a weakness. Preferably before they blow the command center to bits.”

“Bad friends!” Thor brought his hammer down, flattening the three closest to him. “You should not shoot these good people!”

“Sir, they appear to be highly flammable.”

For one brief second, Tony imagined Fury's face as he set the entire ship on fire.  “Uh, yeah, not an option. Give me something else, J.”

“I’m scheduling you a psych evaluation,” Fury hissed, firing off rounds and watching as the angry little creatures pulled themselves back together. Computer screens were scorched and a number of people had fled the command center.

“Me? I’m not the one that tried to drink them under the table!”

“Friend Clint introduced them to the wonders of human mead! Perhaps this is why they are so quick to anger!”

“You’ve flooded my bridge with drunken trolls!”

“Gnomes, Director.” Oh, boy. Eyebrow had arrived.

“How did you get here?”

“Bruce spilled the beans and I called in a couple of favors.” He used his shield to detach several heads. They just came rolling back.

“Why would you willingly put yourself into this situation?” Tony didn’t understand--anyone with half a brain would run in the other direction. Lifting his foot, Tony stomped hard on one trying to gnaw his leg.

Steve shrugged and tried to scratch at his back, fidgeting even as he chopped at the lawn decorations. Figured now would be the time that Clint would use the itching powder.

“Sir, they appear to be…”

“Hold…that…” Tony whipped his visor up and sneezed. All over the gnome in front of him.

“At least you didn’t hit me this time.”

“I’m meeellllltiiiinnggg!!!!”

“Water soluble,” Jarvis finished dryly.

“And yet they can drink tequila? That makes no sense.”

“They are like the green lady from the yellow road,” Thor bellowed. “Quick, we must find water!”

Tony sneezed and another began to dissolve.

Fury barked orders and soon buckets of water were being thrown all over. “Don’t hit the computers!” Tony danced around an agent who nearly drenched him. “Ouch.” Apparently puddles were wet. And slippery.

“Melllttiiinggg….”

As the last gnome began to drip, red eyes running down a white beard, Fury turned and…

“Tony, wake up.”

“Melting…”

“Tony, Jarvis said your temperature spiked again. You’ve got to wake up and take this.” One arm flailed out from under the covers and patted Steve on the cheek.

“Gnomes…water soluble.”

“Tony, the gnomes were six months ago. Come on.”

Tony’s eyes blinked open. How was it possible for everything to hurt?

“No more skinny dipping by the Statue of Liberty for you.”

“Gnomes weren’t m’fault,” Tony whined. “Clint…he did the itching powder.”

“He did the…you knew about that? I had hives for weeks and you didn’t tell me?”

“Bad mouth,” Tony muttered, closing his eyes and burrowing under the covers. “Bad brain.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a problem,” Steve shook his head. If Tony wasn’t hiding under a pile of blankets, then he might have seen the Captain smile fondly. “Come on, you need to take the medicine Pepper picked out for you. She made a list.”

“M’sure she did. Leave me alone, I’m dying.”

“Sounded to me like you were dreaming. About gnomes.”

“They had eyes, that glowed.” Tony poked his head out from under the comforter.

“Yes. Yes they did. You take these and I’ll let you hang out on the couch and watch movies with me.”

“Batman?”

“You have a superhero kink or something?”

“Or something.” Tony pulled himself from the depths of his bed. “I’ll come watch movies with you…as long as you keep me away from the dvd player. I don’t want to accidentally make it…you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve grinned following him down the hall. “You’ve done worse.” Besides. There were definitely worse problems than babysitting Tony when he was sick.

“Friend Anthony, the washing machine has broken!”

“M’coming!”

Maybe there weren’t.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions of items they'd like to see Tony get his hands on while he's under the weather, let me know and I'll do my best!
> 
> Have a great weekend!!!!


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